


Welcome Home, Good Hunter

by vesta02



Series: Welcome Home, Good Hunter 'verse [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Avvar, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Background Cassandra Pentaghast/Male Trevelyan, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Non-Trevelyan Inquisitor, Romance, Side Relationships - Freeform, Slow-ish burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-06
Updated: 2018-11-30
Packaged: 2019-07-07 13:03:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15908826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vesta02/pseuds/vesta02
Summary: Two worlds collide in the middle of the Herald of Andraste's quest to seal the rifts in the sky. Seeking answers for the tears in their universe, both she and the Avvar mage join forces, drawn together by their shared magic and desire, both to save the world and to help one another.





	1. Part 1: Fallow Mire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rhetoricalrogue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhetoricalrogue/gifts).



> Welcome to the party, y'all! This is an AU I've been flailing around with a good friend of mine and now I've decided to post this super self-indulgent series because why not?

**Fallow Mire**

“Herald, watch your step,” Cassandra held a hand out as Roz’s foot slipped into the muck for what felt like the millionth time. It was hard to see the pathway through the swamp; not for the first time, Rosalind Marlowe wondered exactly who would settle down in the Fallow Mire. Rain had assaulted them with an annoying consistency since they had made camp along the borders, there was more water than land anywhere she stepped and, of course, the residue from a plague as well as the dead rising gave this place little charm.

“Thank you,” Roz shot a quick, grateful smile as she shook the peat and mud from her boots. Armor felt strange to her despite having been decked and dressed in it since waking in the dungeon in Haven. The last few months had rushed past in a blur of faces, battles and all eyes upon her as she made choices that she never wanted to be part of. 

True, she had participated in rebellion (Leliana and Josephine had gently asked her not to disclose that piece of information to anyone looking to join their ranks), but even with the unsteady legs the rebel mages had stood upon, they at least were fighting for freedom. Yes, saving the world was important too, but Roz only felt shackled again, caught in a web that she knew she might never escape so long as the mark remained on her hand.

It crackled and sparked to life in the dim mist, the sickening green tingle running up her fingertips. Strange magic and an even stranger lapse in her own memory left her searching, seeking answers that always seemed just out of reach. Not to mention the looks people gave her. Some were caught in reverence, bowing and scraping and called her Chosen by the Bride of the Maker; others watched with wariness, tense and uncertain, as if she might spring forth a demon in disguise.

Perhaps it was better they remembered she was a mage and that she should be feared. In the end, though, it left her feeling more lonely than satisfied.

Cassandra had never swayed after their first attempt against the Breach, steadfast and faithful beyond words. Not many others had looked upon her the same way. Varric had this way of watching from the corner of his eye, as if mentally taking notes, sometimes narrating under his breath, but never getting too close to her. Blackwall was polite and uncertain, strong on the field but the wandering Warden hadn’t opened up much since joining their party. 

“You really do take us to the nicest swamps, Rosebud,” Varric quipped from behind, “though I don’t think I care so much for the undead.”

“Perhaps you’ll have to write a strongly worded letter to the bog,” Roz snorted, shooting the dwarf a small smile. “Find some good words to use to describe this place. Damp, squelching, muddy-”

“An ever-constant fear of stepping in water and summoning the dead?” Varric added. Roz brushed back a small piece of damp hair off her face with a shake of her head, pausing only a moment to keep an eye on the shore nearby.

“Whatever magic’s afoot here, it’s not good.” Was it the rifts? Or perhaps someone else had harnessed something deeper and darker to bend and twist to their own will? The beacons in the bog didn’t give her a good feeling either way, not when she sensed it wasn’t the only one.

The world was filled with more magic, wonder and dread than Roz could have ever possibly imagined. Had she been told only a year ago that this would be her life, she would have laughed. But now stepping through dangerous territory, fighting off bandits and undead alike had become normal, along with the magic that swirled and surrounded her.

“Another broken home,” Blackwall tilted his head towards yet another run-down building in the distance. “Poor sods. I’ve seen plague, it’s not pretty.” Roz could believe it, wrinkling her nose against the putrid scent of death and decay that permeated the air around them. 

Her own mind wandered to charred bodies, those broken by the fires set in the Circle and the people she had lost when they ran for freedom. How many bodies made anything she did worth it? How many deaths could be justified for the cause of seeking a life free from the Chantry and the Templars?

Shaking herself from a familiar spiral, Roz wiped rain from her face and kept them moving forward. 

Magic was calling to her, a shift in the air drawing her closer to it. The mark offered an unfamiliar tang in her mouth, a strangeness that felt so unlike her own power that she’d nurtured and lived with almost her entire life. That was a force she knew well, a vast warmth that glowed and smoked like embers in her chest. The magic she could taste felt like the mark and she knew before they’d reached the strange green glow that there was another rift.

“Well,” Varric frowned at the stitch that glimmered green against the sky, cursing under his breath a moment. “Looks like the one in the valley, doesn’t it?” 

“Not fully closed,” Roz sighed from the ruins of the house they’d paused in, eying the improperly sealed rift with irritation. Her hand sizzled at the thought of opening it, the magic already tugging to the stitch, the mark given a mind of its own when they got close to these when they were in the field. “Come on, let’s see what we can do.”

“Wait-” Cassandra had an arm flung out before Roz could move further ahead, running straight into Cassandra’s armored arm before slowing down. A gesture and Roz turned her attention to the shadows. Solid, strong and far bigger than she was, the stranger made no move forward to attack when Roz became visible.

“Is he friendly?” Varric intoned under his breath, the question they were all asking. It was hard to tell friend from foe in the wilderness sometimes, especially when they had yet to run into the Avvar who had apparently caused all this trouble and fuss.

“It doesn’t matter, does it? We need to close this. Properly.” Magic surged in her fingertips, wild and free as she stepped forward, lifting her hand to rip apart the veil. It struggled against her attempts, harder to control and contain, but she grit her teeth and let out a snarl as the world exploded in a green haze and demons burst into the world.

Roz held her staff, magic channeled within it, focusing the raw energy that raged within her. She was a wildfire, a clean burn that surged forth with spells and stabs of burning, bright energy. Fighting had never come easily to her; she had focused her own skills into herbalism and learning how to hone healing as an art. It helped in hiding evidence of her darker dealings, developing poultices to keep scars closed and healing. She wasn’t graceful in a fight nor did she have the brute strength that came with a warrior’s body.

Cassandra and Blackwall could dive into a fight, clashing metal and steel against their enemies, drawing forces to them to slash and hack away with brutal precision. Varric picked off stragglers, keeping them from getting too close, his line of sight always seemingly clear, despite his height. Despite only being grouped together for a few months, they worked rather well as a team. Roz alternated between savage bursts of flame and cool, shimmering barriers to protect as the dead rose from the peat bog around them.

All it took was a moment when her attention turned away, focused on setting a mine below the feet of a corpse near Varric, that she nearly missed another one ambling towards her; first slow, then fast, tripping over it’s feet momentarily in anticipation of slicing into her. There was a brief should from Cassandra, but before Roz could turn to face the creature, an axe sailed just past her, landing with a dull  _ thud _ against the head of the creature.

There was no time for her to do more than react, instinct shooting flames into the mist at the sudden arrival of, what? Friend? Foe? Neither?

“Hold, I come in peace!” The fire bounced off a barrier, the figure light up a moment as all the breath left Roz’s lungs. Dark hair clung to his face, a smattering of scars along his face and one hand up, the other clutching the twin axe close to him. Another flash of green light and she noted, without looking too closely, that he was undoubtedly Avvar.

Roz swore internally. Of course, two would appear when they were in the middle of battling a rift.

“More demons!” Cassandra bellowed and Roz shifted her attention quickly from and then back to the stranger.

“If you intend to stay, then help fight them with us.” Roz called out, muttering a prayer under her breath. A glance to her side and she couldn’t help her eyes widening as lightning and blue energy surged along the axes in his hands.

“Hakkon guide your blade, Herald.” And the fight was on.

 

* * *

 

“Be careful, Rosalind,” Cassandra was eying their new friend with caution and wariness. Roz couldn’t blame her, not when he had arrived at just the right moment and found himself among those his people were trying to fight.

“Not  _ my _ people,” Vincent clarified when the rift was closed and all eyes fell upon him. “I’m not of that clan, lowlander.” He was a little gruff, despite his earnestness to help, watching them all with a relaxed gait that still held coiled concern in each step. He may have helped, but he didn’t trust the companions he’d found himself amongst.

That is, everyone but Roz.

There was...something there. A tug not unlike what Roz felt when she grew close to rifts. It didn’t feel quite so severe or strange. As though there was a force calling to her, drawing her in when she got close. Intoxicating and strange and filling her with a sense of calm that she hadn’t felt since she left the Circle.

“I don’t bite, Lass.” Vincent hadn’t even looked up from the fire he was tending to, blowing across embers before the steady flow of magic turned them into bright, glowing flames. The warmth felt good; she had used magic on her clothes and the others earlier, drying the dampness from her armor

Rain continued to fall outside, puddles forming at the cave entrance and mist rolling inside. Roz couldn’t help herself – she was desperately curious, a million questions already forming in her head. “Yes,” she huffed softly, shifting from foot to foot, as though uncertain. Sit? Stand? But a glance from him followed and his gaze was warm, open and she could see the same curiosity echoed back at her.

“So,” Roz began, sitting down on a nearby log, rubbing her hands together before the fire. “If you’re not with the Avvar here, where are you from?”

“My clan is from Stone-Bear Hold,” Vincent answered, lifting his gaze from the fire to meet hers across from him. “My home is in the basin, along the mountains to the northwest.”

“You’re a ways from home,” Roz noted, “why are you here?” She paused, adding quickly, “I mean, I know why you’re  _ here _ -here, but why are you in the swamp?” No one, certainly not anyone in her group, would have come here willingly. Not with the rain, the undead and the threat of strange beacons in the dark.

Vincent tilted his head to the side and for a moment it felt like his gaze was boring straight through her. As though he could truly  _ see _ her, Rosalind, not the Herald of Andraste. Her cheeks flushed and her heart thumped in her chest but she didn’t drop her gaze, she couldn’t bring herself to look away. Here, among the undead and the peat, this man sat before her and it felt like nothing else seemed to matter in that moment.

_ Maker, what a lovely man he is. _

“I was looking for you.” Her heart hammered with an odd uncertainty at the intimacy in his words. Cassandra’s warning to be careful echoed though as Roz swallowed hard.

“Me?!” But her alarm was short-lived, realizing a half-second after she’d spoken that he obviously hadn’t been looking for  _ her _ ; rather, he had been seeking the mark and the woman behind it. Her silly fantasies that had cropped up effortlessly were wiped from her brain, flushed now more out of embarrassment than pleasure.

_ Silly, foolish, of course he seeks the mark, not you, you dolt. _

Shifting along the log, gaining her composure again, she stared at the fire to collect herself, adding her own magic into the mix.

“Herald of Andraste, you have made quite the commotion in the world.” If he had noticed her strange shift, he said nothing of it. “I almost wouldn’t believe it unless I’d seen it with my own eyes,” and his tone dipped, low and soft, “but you can heal the sky. How does that work?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Roz murmured with a small sigh. That was the mystery of it all: more than just  _ how _ she had gotten the mark, but the  _ why _ continued to plague her.

As if it knew they were speaking about it, the mark sizzled in a sharp contrast of green against the warm firelight. Roz gave a soft hiss, a frown creasing her brow as she fought off the sudden wince that followed. Instead, she clenched her hand into a fist, all but willing to light to stop. It does with an abruptness as Roz adjusts her gaze back to the lowlight around them.

Vincent watched her, curious and almost concerned by the looks of it. “Does it hurt?” He asked gently. Roz shrugged in an attempt to look nonchalant.

“Sometimes. It’s more of a sting these days, annoying but not terribly painful.”

Roz rarely talked about how the mark was affecting her and very few people asked. Josephine had often shown concern and sympathy when they were together in Haven but everyone else seemed to comment in passing and were far more intrigued in how it worked and how useful it would be to them and the world around her, not for her, the person. The shift in tone and the soft gaze across the fire felt odd to her as she busied herself with the folds of her shirt, gently warming the fabric to continue to keep herself dry.

As if sensing the discomfort, Vincent didn’t seek to fill the silence or push the subject. Roz was grateful for that as she glanced back up to him, watching him shift before the fire. It was only through subtly watching a moment that she caught the half-wince, the little grimace when he moved.

“Are you hurt?”

Vincent, for all intents and purposes, tried to wave it off without fussing. “Just a few scratches, nothing serious. I’ve lived through worse.”

Roz scooted over towards him, a frown on her face as she reached out. Gently, gravely, she asked, “May I? I can help.” There was a moment, a longer pause before Vincent gave a sharp nod.  

Despite her training, healing had never come quite as easily. Yes, she could find ways to use blood and make it work in her favor, but the healing arts were stiff even after practicing for the last few weeks on the road. The magic within her stuttered awkwardly a moment as her hands reached out, resting along his clothed chest. He took in a sharp breath, eyes wide and apologies fell from her lips.

“Sorry, sorry, I know, healing isn’t my strength but I’m getting better at it.” Letting the cool, blue magic wash over Vincent, Roz tried not to linger in silence long. “Give me an herb garden and I can create a poultice for almost anything. Or tea, I can do tea, too,” She gave a nervous little laugh, pulling her hands away when she was finished. “This is just a necessity of traveling, I suppose. How do you feel?”

“Better,” Vincent murmured, looking oddly winded, eyes fixed still so intently on her. The crackle of the fire was the only noise between them for a long moment as Roz shifted away again, aware how close she had gotten to him.

“So,” She tucked a leg beneath her, adjusting to sit as comfortably with a little distance between them, “you’re a mage? I saw what you did, with the lightning and your axes.” He nodded and Roz continued, asking the questions that burned from within. “But you use martial weapons as a focus? How did you learn to control it?”

Her teaching had always told her a mage outside the circle as dangerous, an apostate without any clear control or careful watch on their powers that could leave them open to hurting themselves or others. And the fear of possession and abominations had often been spread as a tale of caution for all who lived within the circle walls. Yet she had watched him during the fight, impressed with the strange mix of physical combat strength that blended with magic that crackled and fizzed in the air around them. There had been control and power without either outweighing the other and that had surprised her more than anything.

“A spirit of Patience taught me to use this gift.”

Her shocked silence followed this statement and he glanced at her with genuine confusion. “What? Is that not how you lowlanders do it?”

“Hardly,” Roz gave an incredulous laugh, half-curious, half-hysterical at the notion that anyone would willingly taken on possession when they were taught from an early age just what a demon might do. “You’re talking about being possessed. That’s a dangerous thing to us.”

_ Yet you have offered the same. Hypocrite. _

The voice at the back of her mind was bitter and judging and she ran her hands along her arms where she knew scars remained from the rebellion. It was the only way to stay safe, she reminded herself, the only way she could ensure they made it to the conclave alive. Regardless of what had happened, she had done what she needed to survive. No one knew this, but Roz wasn’t going to divulge anything to her companions, not even this strange and handsome Avvar.

“Mages are a conduit to the gods, Lass,” Vincent interrupted her thoughts, leaning forward, “it’s a sacred duty we perform when we use our gifts. Spirits help us learn to channel that.”

“Don’t let anyone from the Chantry hear you saying that. Or a Circle mage, for that matter.” Roz shook her head, her magic flittering to stoke the fire once again. “I didn’t learn how to use my magic from spirits, that’s for certain.”

“How old were you when you began to learn with your gift?” Vincent asked and Roz realized he meant that genuinely. Magic to him was a gift, something that hadn’t been tucked away in a tower for years at a time and feared. It was simple and extraordinary and a lump rose in her throat fast. She swallowed against the sudden emotion, dropping her gaze away, afraid she might cry if she thought about living that life too hard.

“I was six when I came into my abilities. I accidentally lit my older brother’s eyebrows on fire.” That had been a sight - Matthew with no eyebrows, smoke floating in the air and the pair of them caught between amazement and, after a moment, horror at what had happened. “He was fine but my mother and father were swift to do what we necessary.”

“Necessary?”

Roz nodded. “Within a week, I was packed and off to Ostwick Circle with Templars to accompany me.” Her memories from home often felt fuzzy, a piece of a life she couldn’t quite grasp. Now and then she missed it, the sensation of  _ home _ but that had faded with time when her family had ceased communications with the Circle. “I miss Matthew the most. I hope his eyebrows grew back in properly.” The comment was light but her heart did have a certain ache when she tried to picture her big brother, uncertain these days if they shared the same eye color or whether their laugh sounded the same.

“You didn’t stay with your family? Why?” Vincent looked horrified when she glanced up again, his own brow creased deeply with a glower of someone who hadn’t grown up in her world. “You were a child, you shouldn’t have been taken from them.”

“Magic exists to serve man,” Roz recited by heart, “never to rule over him.” When he looked even more bewildered, she went on. “Mages are inherently dangerous with magic and must be watched. Whether you believe it or not doesn’t really matter; we have been taught we need to stay locked away for the safety of ourselves and others.”

“That’s backwards thinking,” Vincent voiced and Roz couldn’t help the soft laugh that escaped her lips. Bitterness prevailed in her tone though as she stared at the fire again.

“Perhaps, but like I said, it doesn’t matter.” The fire had begun in Kirkwall and now it spread across Thedas with a force that almost gave Roz hope for true, real change for all of them. Alderis had given her hope for such a thing; he paid for it, but that flame still burned brightly within her chest.

“Change had to come with a battering ram and we’re still picking up the pieces.” Uncertainty still remained and Roz could feel it whenever they’ve visited with folks across the map. “I hope to build something better than before with those pieces. Not everything was broken, but enough of it needs to be destroyed completely.”

“A lofty goal,” Vincent murmured with a little nod of his head. Roz shook her head, closing her eyes with a small yawn.

“Yes, and one I doubt will come easily.” 

“Then I pray the Lady will guide you to your goal.” Genuine was a hard thing to find these days, especially among those who tried to wriggle their way closer to Roz. But that’s exactly what she saw when she gazed over at Vincent. Her heart thumped again in her chest when he smiled at her and she prayed to Andraste Herself that he didn’t notice the flush that reappeared along her neck.

“Well, first I need to rescue my soldiers.” It was better to change topics, she thought, careful not to lean in too closely as she added, “What can you tell me about the castle in the swamp?” It wouldn’t hurt, she told herself, to enjoy being around him for a moment. Even if he were to leave them in the morning, his help had been a necessity. It didn’t hurt either that his smile gave Roz butterflies.

_ It’s a harmless daydream. I doubt I’ll see him again after this. _


	2. Part 2: The Hinterlands

“Can you hear that?” Roz pulled gently on the reins of her mare as they crested over the final few hills, dipping lower into the valley.

“Hear what?” Vincent asked, her ever-constant companion in the last week as they made their way from the mountain pass and into the heart of Ferelden. Where Roz was uncertain in her riding, Vincent was a natural, murmuring gently in a foreign tongue that she didn’t know to soothe his steed as they trekked onward. The mere fact that he was there, that this wasn’t a fever dream, was still hard for Roz to believe. Staring was hard as well and she had tried to keep her gaze from lingering too long on him.

Instead, she smiled as she gazed out along the vast expanse before them. “Quiet,” she replied after a moment, relishing the sounds of nature instead of fighting that had so often surrounded them in these hills. With the encampments gone for both warring sides, the survivors in the Crossroads could enjoy a little peace before they rebuilt their lives in the hills.

Patting her mare along the side of her neck, Roz couldn’t stop herself from giving what might have been a far-too-early sigh of relief. Fewer fires to put out, less time placing themselves into the crosshairs of danger and more opportunities to see exactly what the people needed here.

What they  _truly_ needed.

Leading the way, Roz glanced over her shoulder as they trekked down the steep incline their horses seemed to take with greater ease and confidence than she would have. Vincent had, of course, come along, but he wasn’t the only one. Iron Bull held up the end of the group, shooting the breeze easily with Varric and, right in the middle, Vincent’s older brother, Rolfe, had been flirting with Cassandra at a steady clip since they left Haven.

Though they had only just begun to grow closer, Roz could tell that, despite the rebuffs and irritated sighs, Cassandra wasn’t completely indifferent to the lighthearted teasing and flirting Rolfe offered. Resistant, stubborn to admit it, but Roz didn’t think anything with Cassandra came particularly easily. Especially when it came to close relationships, not just romance.

“Do you think your brother will tire of flirting with Cassandra?” Roz leaned in conspiratorially, glancing back a moment to let her gaze linger over Rolfe riding alongside Cassandra.

“I doubt it,” Vincent had leaned in close, the warm scent of cedar and salt making her dizzy a moment. She tried not to think too hard as the pair of them shared a moment; his laugh was low, rumbling from his chest while Roz stifled a giggling snort before straightening along her saddle again.

“He has his work cut out for him,” Roz shook her head with a little laugh. “She’s a tough one to crack.”

“And my brother isn’t so easily dissuaded, so long as she hasn’t outright rejected him.”

“It doesn’t seem that way,” Roz snickered lightly but leaned back away from him, straightening once more. “I wouldn’t discount his chances just yet.” Besides, despite her tough exterior, Roz had caught a glimpse of what she had discovered was a rather delightfully dirty romance novel during their first night on the road to Redcliffe, sworn to secrecy once Cassandra realized her secret was out.

Without the threat of attack looming over them, the people of the Crossroads looked a little less world-worn, the weariness gone from their postures. Tents had been set-up for those still transitioning and efforts to rebuild homes that had burned in the fires were underway.

Even with their need to reach the rebels in the village, Roz couldn’t just leave without making sure things were doing alright.

“Rosalind,” Cassandra gently interjected as Roz finished dropping herbs off with a healer that had finally taken up residence in the small camp (with a quick chat about some tinctures that could be brewed with spindleweed that grew in abundance along the creek nearby), “we should make our way towards Redcliffe.”

“I know, I know,” Roz blew a small strand of red that had strayed from her usual braid, the small wispy hair refusing to stay put, “I just have a few more things to look into.” The caches had been marked, food was being distributed and the land may have been safer to hunt on now, but Roz felt the itch to simply do  _more_. Their worlds had been torn apart, flipped off their axis, and if she couldn’t help with the smaller things, how could anyone trust her to help with some of the larger, more overwhelming tasks that stretched before her?

As if to counter her thoughts, her mark sparked and she curled her palm tightly into a fist to extinguish the green light that constantly haunted her.

Her mood soured slightly as she passed along a letter from a templar; despite her own, personal feelings towards the establishment, she wasn’t about to let anyone’s last words to someone they loved go without remark. Vincent noticed, stepping into stride behind her after she’d finished recruiting Ellandra to their cause.

“You seem troubled.” It was a statement rather than a question, an opening for Roz to speak her mind if she decided to. Finding the words, however, were hard, especially when her own feelings were a mixed bag these days.

“I don’t understand how anyone in the Circle could have a romance with a Templar,” she began, dropping her voice low, pausing to pluck fresh elfroot from standing water beside them. “All the Templars I knew were…well, no, let me start again.” Frowning, she started over, trying to find any shred of tact she had left for the order.

“Not all Templars were terrible, but enough of them knew how to abuse and use their powers to benefit themselves. I’ve seen too many of them remain passive while others held the leash over mages tighter than necessary.” An image unbidden came to mind, those last moments before Alderis was dragged away playing before her. She shook her head, as though she might be rid of them if she tried hard enough. “Perhaps she was lucky. I just can’t understand it.”

“The more I hear about the Circle, the less I like it,” Vincent commented gruffly. “I can’t imagine spending my life living in fear of my gifts.” He glanced to her, holding her gaze a long moment as he added, “And neither should you have gone through such a thing.”

“I survived it. Not everyone did.” Perhaps it was easier in the long-run to lie about her involvement with the rebellion, especially when it helped gain allies to continue to help them seek to bring peace to the regions once more. But it still stuck to her tongue, the bitter pill she had to swallow after lying to Ellandra about exactly where she stood with the rebellion. It was the one thing she didn’t say aloud in those moments, glancing about the Crossroads once more.

Peace, relative quiet and stability. They’d be alright for now. “Come on,” She turned, Vincent falling easily into step with her again, “Cassandra’s been eager to get to Redcliffe. As am I.”

As they mounted back onto their horses, Roz sent a quick prayer to the Maker, her own quiet hope a burning ember in her chest.

_Maker, please, please, please, let me find friends among them._

* * *

 

“Something’s not right,” Varric was the first to comment once they’d made their way down to the docks along the lake. Roz’s mind was reeling, piecing together information that didn’t quite make sense. From the first moment they set foot in the village, Roz could feel the unease rolling off the villagers. They whispered behind their hands, eyes wide with uncertainty but that was expected, especially when she considered that they hadn’t anticipated the Inquisition to arrive there at all.

“I don’t understand it,” Roz murmured, playing with the folds of her tunic, pacing back and forth along the shoreline. “We  _saw_ Grand Enchanter Fiona in Val Royeaux,” She shot a quick glance to Cassandra and Varric. “I’m not imagining that, right?”

“No,” Cassandra agrees, her own expression grim, sitting on a nearby rock. “I saw her, too. There is something afoul here.”

“If we believe the ‘Vint,” Bull interjected with a dissatisfied grumble, “magic’s to blame.”

Roz closed her eyes tightly, lips pressed together in a thin line as she let out a huffing breath. “Perhaps,” she murmured after a moment, allowing herself to catch her temper in time. Bull, she was realizing the longer they traveled together, didn’t have a high opinion of magic. While she couldn’t discount his suspicion towards the Tevinter mage who had just  _happened_ to be there with a far-fetched explanation, she knew better than to write it off completely.

Nothing felt right here. Tevinter was on their doorstep, had indentured the  _Grand Enchanter_  herself and, if she believed that time had been altered? Well, the implications were too vast for her to name. She felt a headache coming on, pressing the bridge of her nose with a muted sigh.

“I don’t think you’re going to like my decision, Cassandra,” Roz turned to face the Seeker, pulling her into private conversation as the others peeled away from them.

“Oh?” Perhaps she was gruff and a little too blunt, but at least Roz knew she could be honest with Cassandra, regardless if they shared the same viewpoint on the situation. “And what would that be?”

“I don’t think we have  _time_ to seek out the Templars.” It was a relief, in a way, knowing that she wouldn’t be walking into the viper’s nest. Even with support, Roz couldn’t shake the fears that rested in her bones, the knowledge that she had often known through her life with the Order. “With everything we’ve seen today, we have to act, and soon, before things spiral out of control here.” If things fell apart here, it would spread; all the good they had done would be destroyed and the people they had helped would have to flee for their lives once more.

“I can see where you’re coming from,” Cassandra tilted her head, pausing as though to parse out a thought, “but I do not think we should act without the facts. And we do not have any facts from the Templars that abandoned their post in Orlais.”

“But how can they possibly help us close the breach?” Roz snapped back, “Shall we go chase down Lord Seeker Lucius, who I might remind you isn’t our biggest fan, and convince them to, what? Wave a sword at the breach? Compel it to close itself with the power of smite?” The comments clawed from her throat before she could stop them, pacing once again before the Seeker.

“I know what people say, how they view me and all others like me. They did in Orlais and they will do so again if I try to reach them. I know,” she held a hand out as Cassandra made a move to interrupt, stopping for Roz to continue, “not all of them, but enough of them seem against us. To them, we’re a danger that needs containing, a threat that needs to be brought to heel again.” Enough of them wanted to stop the Inquisition before Roz had found herself in the middle of it, never mind now that a mage had the gall to be “chosen” by Andraste.

“You should not judge the Order too harshly.” Cassandra added softly once Roz had finished rambling off all the reasons not to seek out the organization that did not want them.

“And yet that’s exactly what they do to me.” Roz offered a sad sort of smile, the truth of her words seeming to sink slowly into the Seeker. “I do not see that changing anytime soon, Cassandra, do you?”

Tense silence followed and, had they been given a moment longer, perhaps Cassandra would have come up with a different opinion, a new way of looking at things despite what Roz felt in her gut was true. The Templars weren’t the way to go and she just knew that it was a waste to leave things precariously as they were here.

Varric’s voice, however, broke the spell, calling out from down the shoreline. “Seeker, Rosebud, you two might want to see this.” Roz felt her own guard go up at the apprehension in his tone, taking careful strides away from the spot she’d been pacing to approach what she had assumed was an abandoned home along the water’s edge.

The moment she stepped inside, the very air seemed to change. Her breath caught in her throat at the sheer  _wrongness_ of it all. Magic rippled from the shelves, the strange whispering echoing in her ears that accompanied any discovery of the strange skulls in the countryside.

What she saw before her were those exact skulls. Dozens of them lining the walls, a few piled along the ground. A bundle of cracked and shattered skulls lay in the corner, abandoned in their lack of usefulness. A shiver ran down her spine, stuck in the doorway a moment longer before she dared to reach out. Her fingertips grazed across the nearby skull, snapping her fingers back quickly at a tingle that slithered down her hand upon contact.

Vincent wasn’t far, his own eyes gazing warily at the skulls before him. “Magic,” he muttered, their gazes meeting for a brief moment; Roz nodded in agreement, struggling to take another full breath as she turned.

“You’re right,” It was Rolfe, however, who found the answer, papers held firmly in his grip. “What do they mean by ‘tranquil’ in these papers?”

The silence that followed was deafening. Roz was dizzy, her stomach coiled and knotted, nausea rising up hard and fast along with horror and grief hot in pursuit. “No,” She whispered, her hands shaking as she reached out to touch the nearest skull. “Oh no, no, no, no.” Faces of those she had known flashed before her eyes, the unspeakable horror of this acting as a sinking pit in her stomach.

“Rosalind?” Vincent had a hand on her elbow as she swayed a moment. His touch was warm, grounding a moment as she turned to him, her mouth opening to try and find her words.

“Poor sods,” Varric murmured.

“Not like the Tranquil were doing much with ‘em.” Bull’s comment cut through the air and Roz felt all the breath leave her lungs with a sharp hiss. The grief, the sorrow, the anguish all burned swiftly into anger that she’d felt mounting since they arrived in the region. There was nothing gentle in her as she abruptly pulled away from Vincent and his comforting grasp on her. Instead, she whirled on Iron Bull with a snarl.

“You have  _no right_  to say those things,” Roz growled, heat rolling off her in waves. Despite their height difference, she walked to him, one finger against his chest, blue eyes hard as steel. “They were  _people_. Their lives should have been their own. You do not get to judge them.” Her teeth gnashed together as she let out an angry huff, adding, “You are not better than them.”

Still shaking, she continued, “I’d think over my next words carefully, The Iron Bull.”

Tense silence followed and, had she been in a better mood, Roz would have laughed at the sheer ridiculousness of it. She was no match in height to him, aware that she barely came up to his chest. But he met her gaze levelly, his own expression hard (and, if she were right, a hint of surprise), neither of them moving from their spot.

“Boss.” He rumbled and the moment broke. Roz pulled away swiftly, turning on her heel.

“I’ve seen enough here. I’m done.” But there were words still unspoken, caught in her throat as she stepped back out into the open air.  _I don’t want to be here anymore._

* * *

 

For the first time in a long while, Roz let herself slump by the fire, the weight of the world pressing hard against her shoulders. Guilt and grief were warring internally as she wrapped her blanket tighter around her body. It didn’t fit all the way, made for a slim cot and not a plush body, but there was still something comforting in the act itself. As though she could make a cocoon of it, keeping the world at bay a moment longer instead of letting the chaos and the anger eat her from the inside out.

Exhaustion was a constant companion but sleep hadn’t come. Instead, Roz had pulled herself from her cot, slipping to sit by the fire. The sounds of Lake Luthias were almost comforting, the waterfall and chirping of crickets making the world seem a little softer and perhaps more peaceful than it felt in her mind.

Every single one of the skulls they had come across, each ocularum, was from a tranquil that had been killed. The thought made her sick, her stomach continuing to knot and roil in her gut. How many of them had they seen? How many had been lost when the Circles fell? Was he-

It was the one question she didn’t want to answer, squeezing her eyes shut to will the thought away. Spots blinked before her vision when she opened them again, disoriented for a brief moment. Any answer to her own lingering doubts would only add more guilt to her already troubled mind; no answer was better than the alternatives that were far more likely than the idea that he may have survived it all.

“May I join you?” Vincent’s voice murmured quietly from her side, causing Roz to jump. The blanket slipped a bit from her shoulders as she attempted to wrap it closer around her body again.

“If you like.” Running a hand across her face, letting the blanket slip again, she frowned into the fire. “I’m afraid you’re not seeing me on my best day,” Roz sighed apologetically, unable to lift her gaze from the fire. Everything felt like a constant fight the last few weeks, growing more and more apparent the last few days as the time to make a choice loomed ever closer on the horizon.

“You’re allowed to have feelings about it all, Roz,” Vincent reached out, a hand gently resting upon hers, “you’re only human.” The contact was brief, but she felt it again: a soft shiver rolled down her spine, but this was a pleasant sensation, as though stepping into a warm bath. It was gone as quickly as it came, her own expression confused before she shook her head.

“I don’t think that’s what they want from me.”

“Aye, but what do  _you_ want? It can’t just be about them and their needs. You’re the one they call Herald and you have more power than you think you have.”

Roz snorted, a ghost of a smile tracing her lips. “Don’t tell them that. I think the idea of a mage in power scares them, even if they don’t admit to it aloud.” She twisted, reaching for the blanket edge that kept slipping. Vincent reached for it instead, lifting it to her shoulder. The action paused in his hands, a frown shifting his features.

“They have you sleep with these scratchy things?” He questioned, experimentally rubbing the fabric between his fingers in obvious distaste. “How can you get comfortable with this scratchin’ and itchin’ at you all night long?”

“I’m certain they’re made to be more utilitarian than comfortable,” Roz commented dryly. “Honestly, I think the fact that we even  _have_ supplies really shows just how far we’ve- wait, where are you going?” Right in the middle of her sentence, Vincent stood abruptly. She watched with a strange curiosity as he moved away from the fire, all but stalking back towards the tent he had set up with Rolfe earlier in their evening.

Vanishing into his tent, he reappeared looking a little ruffled in the firelight, carrying something she couldn’t discern in his hands. “Here, this should be better.” He was careful with his movements, gently placing a sleek, soft pelt across her shoulders. Not before, he course, he helped pull the other blanket off of her.

“Oh.” Roz felt a sigh bubble up from her lips, marveling at the softness and the warmth that encompassed her effortlessly. “Maker, this is lovely.” She paused, adding softly, “Thank you. You didn’t have to-”

“Aye, I didn’t, but I wanted to.”

It was the earnestness that caught her off-guard; cynicism followed her every step when it came to anyone getting closer with her. The members of the Inquisition she was learning to trust, but part of her always wondered how much they wanted from her.

Roz pressed her cheek against the softness of the fur, closing her eyes again. “Still, thank you.”

The silence was interrupted only by the flowing water and crackling fire. Then, so softly, Vincent asked the question that had Roz’s stomach coiled in knots once again. “What does it mean to be made Tranquil?”

She didn’t speak for a few, long moments, eyes opened again as she stared into the fire. Her frown deepened as she tried to think of a way to explain it easily, but she knew there was no easy way to do that.

“If a mage is a danger to themselves or others, Templars have the choice to use the Rite of Tranquility upon them,” Roz murmured, bitterness lacing her words as she lifted her gaze from the fire, meeting his. “It means they are cut-off from the Fade. They become shells of themselves: docile, able to enchant, but unable to be who they once were.” She swallowed hard, adding softly, “Not all who are made Tranquil are dangerous. I’ve seen it used as punishment as well.”

“So those skulls belonged to-”

“Mages who had been made Tranquil, yes.” Roz paused, her face screwed up in an attempt not to weep at the fresh onslaught of emotion that welled up in her throat. It was a wound that she didn’t know would heal, a scar that kept opening every time she thought it was closed.

Vincent met the statement with horrified silence, his own expression darkening in the glow of the fire. He muttered what Roz could only assume was a curse in his native tongue. “To be cut-off from your true self,” he muttered, “must certainly be a fate worse than death.”

“Yes,” Roz murmured, her voice thick as she pulled the pelt tighter around her shoulders, “it is. And to see them and know that they’re not truly  _there_ , all of their light just…gone.” She swallowed hard again, letting out a shaky breath.

“You’ve known those made Tranquil.” Another statement of fact came gently from his lips and Roz swore she could feel his gaze on her as she stared directly into the fire.

“Yes,” She whispered, blinking back tears unsuccessfully. “Some I didn’t know very well, but others…” She trailed off a moment, brushing a hand across her cheek with a sniffle. “Someone I loved was made Tranquil.” It was the one story she had never truly told amongst her new companions, uncertain how to even begin. But Vincent reached out, tentatively, his hand resting over hers.

“You don’t have to tell me,” He reassured her gently, “if you don’t want to.”

“I know,” Roz gave him a watery smile, “but I think I want to.” The truth was a hard burden to bear alone and, even though she knew this changed nothing of what had happened, there was a small part that needed to simply speak the words into existence.

“His name was Alderis, and I loved him desperately.” And so she spoke, weaving the story in soft tones about her mentor who had turned into her dear friend and then lover. How smart he had been, how passionate about their freedoms, how kind he had been to her and others.

“He wanted our freedom as much as anyone in the Circle,” Roz confided, “and perhaps not all of his methods would have been viewed upon with kindness from the Chantry.” Blood magic never was, but that was part of her story that she kept tucked away. “Suspicions were flying and everyone was tense in the Circle in the weeks leading up to it. In the end, I think it was easiest to make Alderis an example, if not to stop him from preaching of just what we might gain from autonomy and life outside the Circle.”

Those last moments Roz knew she’d never forget. The classroom where they were working with a few of the newly Harrowed students before the door was shoved open. Alderis had been smiling a moment before they grabbed him, the Templars showing no mercy as Roz surged forwards. She’d been stopped and charges were laid at their feet.

“I don’t know why I was spared yet he was not.” Her voice dropped so softly, shaking her head as a few errant tears slipped down her cheeks. “None of it made sense.” She had her suspicions that her mentor, Lydia, had kept her from the same fate, but that had meant little when faced with the results of the rite done on Alderis. Blank eyes, a monotone voice and the mark on his forehead for everyone to see.

Taking up his mantle in the search for their freedoms had seemed easy comparably. Her grief had turned to rage and resolution in the face of rebellion.

“I heard few survived the uprising at Ostwick. I don’t know if he or the others found their way out.” Roz had planted the seeds, pulled away to the Conclave when her friends and comrades in arms rose up against the Templars. The story had been spun to sound peaceful, as though a compromise had been sought by both sides. It was an effort to keep the peace; Roz knew the truth, though, clutching tight the hope that her students and friends had made their way from that place in one piece.

His hand squeezed hers, fingers gently lacing between hers to hold tightly to her. “That sounds like it’s been a heavy burden to carry, Rosalind.” And that was the truth, murmured to her by the campfire, thousands of miles from the only place she had known as home. She let out a sharp, soft laugh, bitter and sorrowful as she sniffed hard again against more tears.

“Sometimes I prefer to think he died that day when they cut him from the fade,” Roz admitted, her features twisted again in grief as she continued in a broken whisper, “It was kinder to me, as selfish as it sounds. I’d rather remember him with life and passion. I can cherish his memory of what was rather than what they made him.”

“If you found him tomorrow, would you still care for him the same way as before?” He asked her and the question had her pause, deep in thought as she stared at the fire.

“I don’t know. Maybe? Or maybe not?” There were too many factors at place in her mind, wondering exactly how she might react to finding him again after all that had happened. “In the end, I feel he was a dear friend to me, a companion to share ideas with. If he were alive, if I found him, I would want to make sure he was safe and cared for, not left to the whims of the world and those who would exploit him.” She swallowed hard, adding softly, “I’d owe him that much.”

Alderis had given her hope, a spark that had grown into a fire that burned inside her. There would always be an ache for what could have been or what she could have done, but nothing could change that. And, while she wouldn’t say it aloud, Roz had long since come to peace that nothing could sway her from the path she walked now. She had been willing to die for the rebellion, yet she had been offered the chance to live and see parts of it some to fruition.

It wasn’t exactly what she wanted, but it was a start.

They sat in quiet, his hand still intertwined with hers. His thumb rubbed soft, soothing circles along the back of her hand, a gentle comfort that left her with feelings she couldn’t quite put to words. And maybe now wasn’t the time to do it, not with her emotions raw as they were.

There was relief in having shared though, a wave of it washing over her with a suddenness. There were tears again as she leaned against Vincent’s shoulder, her cheek pressed against him, but there was no sorrow in them this time. His hand slipped free and Roz nearly pulled back, afraid she’d overstepped, but instead he tucked her close, an arm resting gently at her shoulder.

“Thank you for listening,” Roz murmured thickly against his shirt.

“Of course, Rosalind,” He whispered against the crown of her head, “of course.”

* * *

 

Roz didn’t remember going back to bed, but she woke with the pelt still tucked gently around her. She pressed her nose against it, breathing it in, her heart feeling lighter than it had in months. The sounds of the camp waking up and the scent of rashers being cooked on the fire were enough to draw her from the tent at last. An idea had struck her late in the night that wouldn’t leave her alone, swiftly rubbing the last winks of sleep from her eyes as she exited her tent.

“Iron Bull,” Roz called, arms wrapped tightly around herself, “can you come with me?”

They walked in slightly awkward silence; it wasn’t a long trek back to the ledge, but the moment seemed to linger on and on. Roz knew she didn’t want to apologize for getting mad, but she didn’t want to leave things as they were. Instead, she had a different idea.

The skull sat upon the strangely carved pedestal at the edge, the faint whisperings of magic brushing against her ears.

“What do you need, Boss?”

Roz tilted her head a moment, gesturing to the skull. “I need you to help me get this unstuck.” She blew a strand of hair from her face, adding quietly, “I don’t think I’m strong enough physically to get it to move without a little help.” When she used them, they only rotated so far and never had she been able to shift and adjust it. With her smaller hands to pry it a bit and Bull’s strength, she assumed they might make a go of it.

The request seemed to surprise Bull, who raised a brow and then nodded. “Sure.”

As she had predicted, the effort took both pairs of hands to remove it. Roz whispered some ice magic into her fingertips, turning the base brittle in an attempt to get it off without completely shattering the skull. There was a small crunch before Bull had it in his hands, finally, after a few minutes of their work.

Bull held the skull aloft a moment, the light filtering through it a moment, magic slowly dissipating from it once it had been removed from its place. Only when it dulled again did he hold it to her, letting her gently lift the skull from his palms. Roz wished she knew how to describe how she felt to him, the hurt that came with the discovery, the pain at knowing that she may have known these people. She swallowed hard though, cradling it close to her.

“You told me about Seheron,” she began softly, meeting his gaze with misty eyes, “and the people you lost. Know the pain that you felt, the kind that led you to the Re-educators, is the same pain I’m feeling right now. I wish I didn’t know this, but I do and I have to live with it.” There was no turning back from this new information, no pretending it didn’t exist or changing how they discovered the cabin. Now she knew and she could try to do something good with it.

“I get it, Boss,” Bull rubbed the back of his shaved head. But even the spy didn’t have the right words to truly encompass everything Roz was feeling or to untangle the complications that surrounded her heart in that moment.

“What’s done is done,” Roz intoned gently, “and now we can move forward.” She gazed back out to the expanse of the land that stretched out before them from the spot. “I don’t want their deaths to be in vain. We continue to pull the shards from the field, but after we’ve marked their locations we take the skulls and give them a proper burial. They deserve that.” She didn’t know how or where, but they would be laid to rest.

Bull had a hand resting between her shoulder blades, a weight that pulled her from the depths of her emotions. There was a moment, soft and quiet as she smiled at him sadly. “Some of our brightest were made this way. I hope something like this doesn’t have to happen again. I hope to change it.” Perhaps the pair of them would never see eye-to-eye, but an understanding passed between them as she walked back into the camp, finding a spot for the skull and a map marked with the locations of the others in the region.

* * *

 

“I’ll only be a few moments,” Roz argued with Cassandra as the pair of them trekked up the sloping incline to the top of the lake, “I don’t need an escort to gather spindleweed and blood lotus.” They’d be leaving the region soon enough and Roz already knew the Adan would appreciate more stocks to add to his stores back in Haven. She had her own concoctions to test out, but first she needed ingredients to work with beyond what they’d already gathered.

“It’s no trouble,” Cassandra followed dutifully behind Roz as they crested the hill. The banks of the lake were teeming with plant life and Roz was careful each time she stepped further to the water’s edge to gather what she needed.

Lost in her own thoughts, Roz hummed gently to herself as she plucked and picked and moved closer to the edge of the waterfall. Their camp was well within sight and there was a soft swell of encouragement to see most of their party relaxing in the late morning sunlight.  And then her gaze drifted to the lake below.

“ _Oh_.” Nearly dropping her satchel, Roz felt all the breathe leave her lungs, eyes wide as she caught sight of the brothers below. The mist and water kept much shrouded from her eyes, but there was quite a lot for her to see. And, Maker, it was a sight that she couldn’t help but drink in.

Both brothers, swimming and splashing in the lake below. Completely and utterly naked.

“Roz, what have you-” Cassandra began but Roz grabbed the Seeker’s arm to tug her down and out of sight before they could be spotted in their peeking.

“Shh!” Roz jerked her head down, unable to stop the rising heat in her cheeks as she glanced back down at the bare forms of Vincent and Rolfe in the water.

To her surprise, Roz caught Cassandra blushing when she realized exactly what they were watching. “Oh!”

“Yes.” Roz let out a slow, shaky breath, her eyes tracing the whorls and tattoos that decorated Vincent’s chest and shoulder. She had seen some peeking out from under his clothing, but nothing with quite so much detail as she saw in the moment. Water dripped down Vincent’s shoulders, flexing and stretching as he swam away from Rolfe’s splashing. It was innocent, playful as the brothers sent water flying at one another, Rolfe’s baritone laugh and an undignified squawk from Vincent when he was dunked under.

She swore softly, swallowing hard. “I…Andraste’s frilly knickers, we shouldn’t be doing this, should we?”

“Probably not,” Cassandra muttered, though she made no move to leave just then. Despite her own apparent indifference towards Rolfe when they were together, the Seeker was very quiet now, her eyes fixed on Rolfe below. Roz glanced to Cassandra and then back down to the lake below.

There wasn’t any harm in this. It wasn’t like they planned to do it again. She cleared her throat, settling down, allowing herself a few moments longer to enjoy the view and the wild workings of her imagination. Cassandra broke the silence with a gruff murmur.

“We’ll never speak of this to anyone.”

“You have my word.”


	3. Part Three: On the Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their trip back to Haven is anything but dull and Roz has difficulty handling her emotions.

The road into the mountains held their fair share of dangers, both natural and man-made. Bundled against the cold, the group made their way back towards the village nestled in the mountain range, stopping to camp and eat. Roz, however, was fueled with a single mindedness that had her pushing them all a little harder to move faster each day.

Each day lost felt like another day that Alexius gained more power and the mages became exactly what the world perceived them to be: a threat and a danger.

Despite eradicating the groups from the Hinterlands, there were still cells and groups roaming the hills. It shouldn’t have come as any surprise to them when they found themselves ambushed days away from Haven.

_Templars. Of course we run into Templars._

The smite came swiftly and without mercy. Roz had seen the movement, catching the bright flare of blue along the armor of one of their assailants. She grit her teeth, snarling as she readied herself to hold firm. It was one of the first lessons she had learned in the Circle: how to endure without completely losing balance or getting sick once the attack passed.

_You can try, but I’m not going to falter._

Her own magic burned bright, sending a wall of fire towards the knight, stave lifted before her to block the errant swing of a sword. It had been a mistake to engage any of them this closely, not when her armor was light and her own fighting skills were subpar at best. Fights and skirmishes all blurred together and Roz knew it was a miracle (and the help from her companions with her) that she managed to get through them without getting herself gravely injured.

“Rosalind!” Cassandra’s voice called across the field, but she was too far to reach Roz quickly. The first smite missed as Roz dodged, tripping over her feet, staggering along the ground. The second, she knew wasn’t going to avoid her as the target. 

One moment she was standing, balanced precariously against the oncoming magic, the next she felt herself pushed aside. The smite grazed her, sending a shudder through her system as her magic burned and fought against the cleansing spell. Vincent wasn’t so lucky.

His whole face went white, magic sputtering to a close as he fell hard. The knight moved in to strike but Roz threw a barrier around Vincent as she struggled to her feet. Her own mana was low but she threw another fireball at the knight. It was distraction enough to pull his attention away before Roz surged forward with the blade at the end of her stave.

She only grazed the weak spot in his armor that she’d known was between his shoulder and arm, but the knife from Rolfe just behind him did the trick. One moment he was standing, the next red flowed freely and he dropped to the ground, lifeless. The last of the Templars were already picked off as Roz whirled around, her attention on Vincent.

“Maker’s breath, what did you do  _that_ for?” Roz hissed as fear flared bright and sharp in her chest. She sank to her knees, running her hands along his body, healing magic searching for any other wounds beyond the draining of his mana.

Vincent opened his mouth, as though he had a thought, but his whole face contorted instead, turning his head aside as dry heaving overcame him. Roz gave a gentle sigh, a hand on his back, rubbing soothing circles between his shoulders.

“Don’t force yourself up yet, just let the heaving subside and we can get you some water.” She paused, letting loose a shaky breath. “I take it you’ve never had to endure a smite?”

“What’s a smite?” Rolfe was asking in his little brother’s stead, who still looked far too pale and shaky.

“Templar trick to subduing any mages,” Roz explained softly, “It’s...terribly unpleasant, to put it mildly.” It felt like everything was scraped from her, as though her magic was blown out like a candle in the breeze. Everything hurt in the aftermath, lost to the nausea and dizziness that took over.

“You’ve been through this before?” Vincent rasped finally, his face contorted in the effort to sit up fully. Roz had a hand on his back, Rolfe bending to support him as well.

“A few times, yes.” Roz shrugged her shoulders, offering a small, supportive smile. “First time happened when I was nine. I was overzealous with my lesson and spooked a Templar in the library. I’ve never felt anything like it before. Like someone had stolen the very breath from my lungs. I was nauseous and shaky and couldn’t continue lessons for almost two days.”

The silence that followed her statement wasn’t new, though it painted a picture far darker than Roz could ever put the words. There was still a part of her that wanted to downplay it all, to brush it off with a joke or to perhaps find a reason for it all. But there wasn’t one, was there? They had simply decided a child was dangerous and stripped her of all power for a short period. It had been the first lesson in keeping her head down and avoiding any trouble until she was much older.

It had always been easier to feel like there was a reason for it all. But the horror on Vincent’s face and the dark expression that clouded his brother’s gave her pause.

“You should be fine,” Roz filled the silence after a moment, trying to brush the serious mood from them. “Stay here a moment, don’t rush to stand, I’m going to check with Cassandra.” As she stood, walking away, she heard the brothers in low, sharp voices, speaking their native tongue between one another. Curious as she may have been, Roz didn’t need to know as she stepped over to the Seeker.

“I don’t think we can travel far tonight,” Roz breathed, wrapping her cloak around her tighter against the chilly air. “Not with Vincent suffering through his first smite.”

Cassandra let loose a slow breath, rubbing the back of her neck in thought. “Yes, I suppose you are right,” She agreed quietly. “We’ll set up camp for the night, get some rest and keep going tomorrow morning.”

Rest would help, though Roz could feel her own emotions climbing, glancing back at Vincent as Rolfe helped him to his feet. Fear, she realized, and the overwhelming realization that she felt too much. And Vincent could just as easily be lost to her like so many others.

 

* * *

 

 

Her legs were wobbly as they settled in for the evening, setting up camp a few miles further into the mountains. The cold and hunger didn’t help, but Roz tried to ignore it all as she volunteered to set up the tent she and Cassandra would share that night.

Fumbling with the pieces, she realized quickly that she’d never done this alone before, having watched on as others helped put it together for the night. Maker, Vincent had simply done it the last few times without her asking for help, which she sorely needed. It wouldn’t be hard, she thought, going from memory.

Unfortunately, a tent wasn’t so easily set up.

She let out a long breath, trying to find a way to get everything to stay in place without drooping or sinking too low.

_I should know how to do this._

“Rosalind,” Vincent’s voice caught her off-guard, lost in her own thoughts and frustrations around her latest tent stakes inability to keep the tarp taut. “Let me help.”

“No,” Roz snapped, defensive as she shot a glance his way. “I’ve got this.” He looked pale, the color still returning to his face. He looked tired and her heart sank slightly, recalling her own fears that surfaced in the last fight.

“It’s not weakness to accept help,” Vincent reached for the rope along the opposite side, tying it in place with an ease that Roz was jealous of. “Especially when it’s new to you.”

“No, I’m fine.” Gritting her teeth, Roz frowned, adding, “You should be resting.”

“I’m rested enough.”

“No, you’re not.” Vincent raised an eyebrow and Roz took charge as her own anger rolled off her tongue effortlessly. “Still feeling it, aren’t you? The nausea, the loss of your mana, the shakiness and the fatigue that stays, right?”

“Rosalind, I-”

“Do you even realize what you did today?” Roz couldn’t help the snarl that escaped her lips, letting go of the tent flap with a frustrated huff. “You leapt into danger without knowing what it was, all in some vain attempt at protecting me when I knew  _exactly_ what was coming!”

“I was trying to help,” Vincent protested and Roz caught the look of confusion on his face at her anger. “I’m here for you, Rosalind.”

“Yes, well,” Roz fumed, “maybe you shouldn’t be.” It felt harsh against her tongue, the statement lingering between them. Roz’s stomach knotted terribly after she’d said it, her lower lip trembling a moment as she took in a shuddering breath. “I don’t need you to save me. I just need you to back me up.” Her anger dimmed as, jaw clenched, she turned from him. She didn’t see him leave but his footsteps crunched away in the snow.

It was better this way, she told herself as she tried, once again, to get everything right. If he got too close, if she liked him too much, there was always the chance he’d be taken away. Everyone else she’d love was gone and now she felt it clawing up the inside of her throat. She wanted to scream and cry and let herself grieve all she’d lost as the fear of losing more overpowered everything.

She had to be stronger than that, she reminded herself, because how could she lead them if she let herself fall apart so easily?

“Let me help, Boss.” Roz didn’t fight so hard as Bull came alongside her. “Follow my lead.” Rather than doing it for her, she watched how he knotted the ropes, pulling the tent flaps just tight enough, securing her sleeping arrangement in place.

“Thanks, Bull.” But her own words felt off, dejected as she avoided eye contact with most of her companions for the rest of the night. She thought about returning the pelt Vincent had let her keep, debating an apology, but, like the coward she was, she couldn’t do it.

Instead, she pressed her face against the warmth of the fur, trying not to cry, lost in her own emotions as sleep claimed her.

 

* * *

 

 

For the first time, Roz was grateful for the meeting that pulled her directly from her mare when they set foot in Haven. It meant avoiding Vincent, who she had barely spoken to in the last two days they traveled from camp up the mountain pass and into Haven. But her greeting in the Chantry wasn’t much better as she relayed her news to the council and of her choice.

“You would bring mages here,” Cullen replied with a darker tone, “unchecked, unchained and free to become abominations.”

“You don’t think I’m worried about that, too?” Roz clenched her fists as she tried not to burn a hole in the table, glaring at the map as she steadied herself. “I know the cost, Commander, and I’m willing to take this chance if it means saving us from this time magic.” This was no time to be weak and she wanted to scream at all three of them.

“If that’s even real!” Cullen protested. “Who knows what this Tevinter mage is really doing here.”

Straightening, trying to hold her head high and speaking with as much conviction as she could, she leveled all three advisors with a look. “We’re allying with the mages. That’s my final decision. If you don’t like it, find another Herald.”

The silence that followed gave Roz a moment to feel the weight of it all; she felt dizzy and weighed down and nausea rolled in her stomach. She swallowed hard against it though, lips pressed together at the slightly stunned look on Cullen’s face, though none of the women seemed that surprised at her words.

“Herald-” Josephine began but Roz had turned on her heel, making a swift escape from the room. The Chantry felt too small, too warm to encompass all of the emotions that were swirling around inside. The cold winter air hit her cheeks as she exited, hands shaking as she moved with purpose through the little village.

“Your Worship-?”

“Leave me. I don’t have time right now.” Perhaps it would have been funny in retrospect: the Herald of Andraste huffing and puffing as she dragged a training dummy away from the camp outside Haven’s walls, single-minded in her purpose to simply get away and out of sight. But instead of laughing or trying to find a bright spot, all Roz could feel was a burning anger.

It simmered and the embers of her last meeting with her council left her feeling utterly powerless in the face of everything. Frustration wasn’t new to her, but the fire that raged and burned swiftly was almost frightening. Roz had held tight to her anger at the Circle in the last few months she had called it home, keeping her emotions on a short leash. Nothing to rock the boat, but that had always been the rule of thumb.

Keep your head low, don’t bring attention to yourself and you’ll survive.

Anger always rose to the surface these days and it was draining. It made her look crazy, perhaps dangerous, and no one could trust a mage with those feelings.

It had been childish to run out on her advisors, but the only other option would have been to stay and be talked out of her choice. Perhaps not all of them would find fault with her logic, but she already could feel Cullen’s frown across the table when she set her thoughts into motion. A former Templar would see flaws in her plans, but it didn’t give her any further confidence to stand her ground.

Only when she was further away from the camp, down along the brush outside the army encampment, did she slow to a sudden stop. Dummy in hand, she adjusted it, trying to plant it in the snow that’s frozen over on the hill. Out of sight and out of the watchful eyes of anyone, Roz turned and threw her fist into the straw stomach.

_Whack_!

The hit stung and she hissed, pulling her gloved hand back. But her anger remained as she shot out with another punch that nearly missed the mark, extending her hand over and over again. She lifted a foot to kick the dummy, face screwed up in the effort to hit her mark.

It hadn’t been the smartest choice. Her foot made contact but, wobbling on the icy patch, Roz found her world suddenly shifted. She slid forward into the dummy, both of them crashing down into the snow.

Roz swore loudly, but she didn’t move from the snow, not just yet. The defeat and her frustration lingered as she stayed directly in the snowbank.

Crunching in the snow caught her attention as she rolled onto her stomach, breath catching for a moment as someone spoke.

“Who won? From here, it looks like a draw.” The burr and tone surprised Roz and, for a moment, she thought that Vincent had caught her into another moment when all composure was lost. But, tilting her face, she wasn’t sure if she was thankful or disappointed to see Rolfe Martasen instead.

Roz sighed, closing her eyes a moment, trying not to feel embarrassed that she’d landed in the snow rather than landing a punch. “I don’t think I could have won either way,” She confessed.

“Need a hand?” Rolfe extended his palm to Roz.

“Please.” She took it without question, easing out of the snow and back to her feet. Swiftly she brushed bits of snow from her trousers, stealing a glance to Rolfe. He smiled back but it was friendly, no sign of malice or teasing at catching her on the ground. “Did you just decide to wander the woods alone?”

The question she didn’t ask lingered in the air between them -  _where is Vincent_? But Roz didn’t know if she had the right to ask that, not after ignoring him since their journey back to Haven.

“If you’re looking for my little brother,” Rolfe replied, “I’m just as surprised he’s not already out here with you. I believe your dear ambassador had pulled him into a riveting conversation when I went out for a walk.”

_Oh_. Did she have a right to feel that pang of jealousy? Pretty, well-spoken, diplomatic Josephine, who had been curious about the Avvar brothers since they arrived, who would probably fit with Vincent without having to try.

Or perhaps Vincent was searching for a way to help but to leave instead of staying? She  _had_ told him to go, more or less.

She swallowed hard against the ugly emotions rising in her chest, pushing them down.

“It’s rare to see you without my little brother trailing you like a lost puppy.” Rolfe offered, bending to pick up the fallen dummy, brushing some of the snow from it.

“Yes, well,” Roz shook her head, letting a long huff of air leave her lungs, “I yelled at him, remember? I don’t think he’ll want to spend any time with me right now.” While none of her companions had spoken about it, she knew her terse words had been easily overheard while they set up camp.

“Thank the gods for that,” Rolfe surprised her with a snort, “at least someone other than me is telling him he’s being an idiot.”

Roz tried to laugh, but it didn’t quite come out properly, falling flat before them. “I just…”

“You don’t need to explain,” Rolfe added quietly, “I know he can be a bit much, a little protective of people he cares about.” There was a sudden warmth in her chest, blossoming to life as quickly as she snubbed it out.

“He’s been kind to me,” Roz sighed, kicking a bit of snow with her booted foot. “I enjoy having him around, but I’m worried that one of these days he’s going to get himself in more trouble trying to help me.” Helpless - she had been helpless to stop a smite, helpless to keep Vincent from throwing himself into danger and utterly lost when it came to controlling her own emotions in the face of all the uncertainty and weight that rested on her shoulders.

“So you came out here to take it out on the dummy?” Rolfe offered, teasing her ever-so-slightly. Roz sighed, her face flushed with embarrassment again.

“Would it surprise you if I told you I’ve never been properly taught how to fight?”

“Would you be offended if I said no?” Rolfe offered a smile and Roz felt her shoulders drop just a bit, letting go of her own defensive stance. She brushed snow from the dummy’s shoulder, considering her words.

“There’s not much chance in the Circle, not when we’re supposed to be docile and learning how to serve man and never rule over him.” The words echoed in her mind, memories of Chantry services and lessons on how to be less than she actually was. “Without connections, you don’t have a chance to do more than they offer. I don’t have noble blood, didn’t move past instructor because of politics, was told to learn only what I must and never more.”

“And did you?” Rolfe asked.

“Sometimes,” Roz admitted with a small shrug, “because what was the alternative? Stand up and go against their orders and lessons? To be made an example with a brand and being cut-off from myself completely?” She swallowed. “Perhaps I’m not meant to lead. Especially when I don’t know how to.”

Rolfe didn’t interrupt as Roz’s fist curled again, lightly running it into the faceless dummy. “I’m dangerous outside of Templar supervision. People look at me as though I might sprout bloody horns if I went off the deep end. I keep trying to make myself smaller, let them feel safe around me, let them  _trust_ me, but it feels like an uphill battle.” The snow melted beneath her feet slightly before she could stop herself, sighing angrily at her own emotions for what felt like the millionth time. “How can I lead when my own advisors question my choices?”

“I don’t have any answers for you,” Rolfe offered, “but maybe you’re not meant to make yourself smaller? They call you Herald and you can do what we cannot. You heal the sky with your hand.” He paused a moment, adding, “I can show you how to throw a punch, if you like. And how to handle a knife. Basics should help you.”

Roz gave a tiny smile. “I could use the help.”

Rolfe mirrored it effortlessly. “Then let’s get to work.”

 

* * *

 

 

Hands planted on the table, Roz looked at the map again, face flushed from the cold but feeling better than she had in days. Her advisors circled around the table in turn.

“Are you certain, my lady?” Josephine asked. Roz just nodded.

“Then we prepare to go back to Redcliffe,” Leliana continued, offering a little smile to Roz, who returned it in kind.

“Time to see what Alexius wants from me.”


	4. Part 4: In Hushed Whispers

“Your group of mages are no longer welcome here in Redcliffe.”

Perhaps she should have been in awe, standing before the King and Queen of a country. They certainly looked noble and fierce, their anger somewhat justifiable. Inviting Tevinter into their lands wasn’t something they had agreed to do, though Roz wondered if they knew the image they were now portraying.

A country closing its doors to those in need, especially those with magic, would be yet another foothold for those who wanted to turn their gaze to the fanatics and let their own machinations take control of a rebellion just starting to quiet.

“Well, Rosalind? What shall it be?” Cassandra asked at her elbow. Roz paused, ducking her head as she closed her eyes, thinking. It should have been an easy choice, one that some would not have wavered from. To conscript the mages would keep everyone else happy, safe in the knowledge that magic was leashed once more.

But Roz felt the stares of a few dozen mages within the throne room, all watching with bated breath as she weighed the options. They couldn’t remain and thus their fate lay within Roz’s hands.

“The mages are welcome to join the Inquisition,” Roz began, lifting her gaze to look at those who were so much like herself, “as allies in closing the breach.” There were a few stifled gasps, a murmuring rippling through the crowd as her words sank in. Disapproval from her companions was to be expected, but it didn’t make their gaze any easier to endure.

She didn’t bother to look back at Iron Bull or Cassandra, shifting to glance at the form of Alexius in chains by the doorway.

 

Self-loathing and hatred had left him, bitterness all that seemed to remain of his own anger at the elaborate plot being foiled. Their eyes met as Inquisition soldiers started out the door; part of her could still feel her own rage bubbling beneath the surface and she almost wished she had finished him off with her own magic. But they may have a use for him yet, she thought, giving a grim nod to him as he left.

“We’re not gonna be safe with a bunch of mages running around unchecked, Boss,” Iron Bull leaned in, giving a wary look at those gathered in the room. “You sure this is a good idea?”

“I hope it is.” Even with his uncertainty, Roz couldn’t help the little smile on her lips, relieved as she patted him on the arm. Alive and well, as they all should be. Cassandra had endured a hug once Roz had found her footing when they returned and she’d briefly embraced Rolfe in the frenzy to organize once Ferelden soldiers had appeared.

Vincent remained at a distance, their hands briefly touching in solidarity in she gave an answer to the mages waiting. His touch was gone, but the warmth of it lingered at the center of her palm.

He had every right to remain distanced, Roz thought, feet planted to the ground as she spotted him with his brother just a handful of footsteps away. All she needed to do was move and she could remind herself that he was real, solid and completely whole. Only a few moments had passed for him, yet Roz felt as if it had been a lifetime.

Was this how her companions had felt in that dark future? How could Roz ever go back to being the same when the world had been swallowed whole before her eyes?

As though he could feel her gaze on him, Vincent turned, catching her off-guard. It was too late to pretend she wasn’t staring and part of her didn’t want to. A long, shuddering breath left her lungs, lower lip trembling slightly under the weight of it. She had watched him  _die_ , willingly walking away from her in hopes that she could prevent this from ever coming to pass in her timeline.

It felt like magic, a lifeline to pull her from her spot and towards him. The world didn’t matter and Roz let the sounds blur and blend together until all she could hear was her own heartbeat. The last image she had seen before stepping back through the portal had been his broken body, red lyrium and blood heavy in the air, all life bled from his eyes.

That image was rapidly replaced with this Vincent, alive with dark blue eyes pulling her closer and closer. Worry pinched his brow, the uncertainty still lingering between them. She hadn’t even gotten around to apologizing or saying anything to him to mend her words from before.

Funny, she thought, how almost dying and watching him die changed so many things.

“Rosalind-” He began, but Roz was already standing on her tiptoes, arms wrapping around his neck, pulling him into an embrace.

It was different from the others, those that she had done just to be sure they were there and real. This felt like coming up for air, warmth flooding through her as she breathed him in. His arms tightened around her, one hand at her waist, the second so gently cupping the back of her head. Beneath her ear, she could hear the steady thrum of his heart.

“I am glad you’re here, Vincent,” Roz breathed into his skin, swallowing her tears back. They weren’t the tears she’d shed for her companions or the ones she’d felt prickling at the corners when she faced Alexius in the present; these were joy yearning to be unbridled in her emotion. Now was not the time, she reminded herself, though she lingered in the embrace, feet barely on the ground as they held one another close.

“Herald,” Cassandra interrupted and Roz reluctantly pulled herself away from Vincent. His gaze was steady and certain on her and Roz had to work on keeping the heat she felt along her neck from spreading upward. “There’s much to be done if we’re to make it back to Haven.”

“Yes,” Roz coughed, smoothing back a few flyaway hairs from her face, “right. Let’s see if we can get everything ready.” There was a knowing look from Rolfe as she passed him, but Roz refused to say anything, setting aside the emotional waves that lapped along the inside of her. There was work to be done and that was something she could throw herself into whole-heartedly.

* * *

“Mind if I join you?” It seemed almost laughable that Roz wanted to cry at hearing such an ordinary, normal request. Standing along the docks, listening to the water rippling and lapping against the shore ahead of her and the rebel mages packing behind her, Roz was trying to avoid most of her companions that evening. It didn’t matter that they had won, or that everything had turned out alright in the end, no matter how often Roz reminded herself of that fact, all she could keep seeing was red.

“If you like,” Roz tried to be airy, nonchalant as Vincent stepped alongside her, sitting on one of the barrels at the edge of the dock. “I thought you were lending a hand in the village?” He and Rolfe had been elbow-deep in packing with the rebels who were to travel with them to Haven.

Despite her return and all she had witnessed, there was still a part of her that felt the nerves and anxiety settle in the moment he joined her, uncertain if she could even begin to explain what had happened and why.

“They have it under control,” Vincent replied easily, “I wanted to find you before you turned in for the night.”

“Oh?” She twisted her hands in front of her, glancing to his outline in the darkness. Perhaps he would leave after all, she thought, reminded of her own words to him not so long ago. That maybe now they had the help, he and his brother would return swiftly to their home and she’d never see him again.

_You told him to go. You can’t be mad if he decides that’s what he wants._

Roz started slightly as his hand found hers, fingers cautiously twining together. “Are you alright?” Vincent asked so quietly. That was the one question no one had truly asked her, not like this. Yes, she was alright, relatively unharmed from her battle back to the right time, but that wasn’t what he was asking, was it? Even in the dark, she could feel his gaze on her, watching for a reaction, to try and decipher whatever was going through her head.

“No,” Roz answered honestly, a tremor running through her as she let loose a long, uneasy breath. “All I can see when I close my eyes is  _red_. I can still feel it on my skin. It’s…unnerving.”

“But that’s not all,” Vincent pressed gently, his thumb running along the back of her hand.

“No, it’s not,” Roz agreed with a whisper. How could she tell him about what she’d seen? Could she even begin to describe the terror that filled her when she’d been tossed about in time, how she had watched all of them die for her? That part stuck in her chest, a weight that made it hard to breathe when she’d found her feet again in the throne room.

Vincent was quiet, giving her the space to find her words. His hand remained with hers, a gentle anchor that remained a constant in the darkness.

“I don’t understand it,” Roz breathed finally, her voice trembling with emotion as she reached with her free hand to wipe at tears in her eyes. “The whole world changed for me in the blink of an eye. Not just once, but twice. And I can’t…I don’t know how to…”

“How did we die?” That was the question that got a shocked silence from her, gazing down with her mouth agape.

“How did you know?” She asked, swallowing hard against the smaller lump in her throat, stomach already knotting. “Was it obvious?”

“I don’t think so,” Vincent reassured with a gentle squeeze. “But you have the look of someone who lost a great deal. I could only assume we died in this future that we can hopefully prevent.”

“All of you died,” The words were thick on her tongue as she began to recount the horrors they had encountered in the dungeon.

How a whole year had passed without them there, the breach grown to swallow the world and the red lyrium that grew from every nook and cranny in the castle. The venatori, the torturing they inflicted, the revelation of this so-called Elder One that left Roz confused and spinning to try and piece together exactly what it all meant.

“You all died so we could come back.” Sitting on the edge, her shoes discarded to the side, she and Vincent remained side-by-side, his hand still intertwined with hers as he listened to the lengthy account without interrupting. The water was cool, but his hands kept her warm in the growing night around them. Torches had been light at the ends of the dock along the shore and most of the village seemed to quiet down in the oncoming evening.

“And that upsets you,” Vincent countered with a small nod. Roz gave a sigh, frowning as she kicked at the water a little harder. The ripples extended from her foot, moving out until she could not longer see them against the inky darkness of the lake.

“I don’t want anyone dying for me, Vincent.” Wasn’t that the truth of it? “Too many people keep putting their lives on the line for me. I’m nothing, just a person. I don’t want someone else to die because of me.” And the unspoken lingered between them as she turned her gaze to his profile:  _I don’t want you dying for me._

Hadn’t that been the issue? He had been willing to leap into danger for her without a second’s thought. The unfairness of that, the sheer ridiculous fact that she was worth dying for didn’t make sense to her.

“I’ve lost too many people,” Roz continued, her own voice softer as she let her feet dangle in the water loosely, “I can’t lose anyone else.”

“You won’t lose me.” Roz wanted to protest the sudden loss of his hand in hers, her palm suddenly cold in the evening air. But both hands cupped either side of her face as he spoke and Roz could barely breathe. “I said where you go, I will follow, and I meant it. Death would not stop me.” Under the stars and the twin moons, Roz swore nothing else in the world mattered but his eyes on her, lips looming so tantalizingly close.

Warm and real and just within reach for her. The worry on his face told the story that he hadn’t uttered and perhaps never would.

“I hope I didn’t scare you too terribly today,” She managed to murmur, swallowing as his thumb brushed against her cheek. Not for the first time, she felt her heart fluttering, caught in his gaze and knowing that she didn’t want to break it.

“I’ll find a way back to you, Roz,” He replied, her nickname rolling off her tongue easily. “I can promise you that.” A shiver visibly ran through him as she tilted into one of his palms, a gentle acknowledgement as she struggled to find the words.

Words were the last thing on her mind though, licking her lips as she debated simply moving forward to kiss him. It had been a very long time since she’d done this, uncertainty fogging her intentions as she hesitated doing anything at all.

Thank the Maker, she didn’t have to do a thing.

Thundering footsteps along the planks and a brief yelp shocked the pair from their reverie, jerking apart just in time to narrowly miss Iron Bull and Rolfe leaping into the water. Their splash surged upwards and Roz sputtered, trying to keep herself firmly rooted on the dock. The two in the water surged up to grab Vincent, yanking him in after them.

“And this,” Cassandra’s voice came from behind as Roz scrambled away from the dock to avoid being pulled in herself, “is why I refrained from drinking whatever you have in your flask, Iron Bull.”

Perhaps it was the ridiculousness of the situation or the day she’d just endured. But Roz looked between all of them – three in the water, only one still fully-clothed, another knowingly stern from the dock – and all she could do was laugh. Tipping her head back, Roz snorted and giggled until a full-bodied laugh took over, leaning backwards against the dock.

With the stars and the right world around her, Roz finally exhaled for the first time, grinning ear to ear in the late evening hours. The moment lost, she only felt relief and unparalleled gratitude at the splashing from the lake, Cassandra sitting beside her and their future a little less dire than it was earlier that day.


	5. Part 5: In Your Heart Shall Burn

Casks of ale were rolled out from the tavern, flowing freely as the celebratory mood lifted the entire village.

They deserved this, Roz thought, fingers curling around a full cup handed to her by a smiling Flissa. The agony of waiting, keeping the members of the Inquisition housed and fed, all working like a well-oiled machine in the past few weeks as they settled into Haven; all of it had helped lead them towards the monumental task of closing the breach.

“Yes, of course, no need,” Roz ducked her head as she tried to defer the attention the village had bestowed upon her. She’d taken to drinking instead when anyone approached her, smiling briefly before just taking a swig. The villagers and mages deserved her thanks instead. They had done the heavy lifting, allowing her power to be amplified.

They deserved all the thanks, not her.

Below the retaining wall, Roz watched their people dancing, laughing and so much lighter than they had been since all of this began. It was infectious as she tapped a foot into the snow, following the beat of the drum. Warmth from the fires below rose upwards, warding off the chill as a cold, winter breeze snapped through the air.

“All of this is because of you.” Despite how heavily her footfalls were usually, Roz found herself startled as Cassandra snuck in beside her. The snow dampened her footsteps, softening them as the pair stood side-by-side. Roz opened her mouth to protest, but Cassandra had already lifted a gloved hand to stop her.

“I know you do not think your role important, but that is utterly false. Only because of your work in helping secure the mages and using the mark to help us has given us this respite.” A small smile flickered across Cassandra’s features as she added, softly, “You do not think you are chosen, I know, but I believe that you were sent to us in our time of need to help. That is no small feat.”

Roz sighed, shrugging her shoulders as she took another big gulp of ale. “All’s quiet though?” She asked, dabbing her sleeve along her mouth.

“Yes,” Cassandra nodded her head. “The sky is calm, the people are happy and we should all enjoy some rest before the real work begins.” The mystery behind the explosion remained, along with multiple tears in the veil all across the land. So long as those remained, Roz assumed her role would stay as well.

The drumming slowed as the dancers clapped, calling for another song. Down below, Roz caught sight of the brothers, laughing as Rolfe picked up a lute lying near the ragtag band. He plucked at the strings, a soft melody rising above as he played a song Roz had never heard before.

“There’s hope,” Roz murmured, her eyes finding and staying on Vincent among the dancers. Her heart fluttered at the sight of him and she sipped once again at her drink. It wasn’t her first glass of the night, the ale making everything soft and hazy in the cold village.

Cassandra, in rare form, leaned over to gently nudge Roz. “Perhaps you have not noticed,” she began with the barest hint of amusement in her tone, “but you both get the same look on your faces when you see one another.”

“And how exactly is that?” Roz murmured, taking a much bigger swig, finishing off her cup, eyes returning to Vincent, who was laughing at something Cullen had said.

“As though you are seeing someone most beloved.” Cassandra shifted next to Roz, taking up her usual stance - rigid and upright, hands laced behind her back. “We have much to do, yes, but you should set it aside and celebrate. This night belongs to you, Rosalind. Enjoy it.”

“Only if you do, too,” Roz countered, glancing to the side as she caught the barest hint of a blush creeping along the Seeker’s cheeks. “I know a certain someone who would happily take all the time he could with you.”

Cassandra gave a huffing sigh, shaking her head. “An incorrigible flirt,” She pointed out.

“And yet I’ve only ever seen him give any serious attentions to you.” Her glass empty, Roz gave Cassandra a gentle pat on her shoulder. “Just some food for thought. We all deserve a bit of happiness here.”

Is that what this was? Happiness despite the darkness? Roz wondered, often, what her life might be like outside the looming walls of the Circle. Would she have been part of something like this, without a mark tying her to the obligation of it all? Would she have a family, friends and people that she cared about from all walks of life?

There was an ache at the center of her chest, a thought that swept through and stole her breath as she wandered down the steps, finding a refill for her cup.

_This won’t last. They’ll send you back once you’ve finished here._

“You look troubled, Rosebud,” Varric’s voice pulled her from the darkness that lingered at the back of her mind. Roz forced a smile to her face, banishing the thought as far from her as she could.

“I just need another drink,” She stated, holding it out as Flissa gladly refilled.

“Quite the party,” Varric leaned against one of the tables set out among the center square of Haven, glancing to Roz with a grin.

“I’ve really never been to one before,” Roz admitted, stumbling briefly over her words as she took a smaller sip this time of her newly refilled cup. “Though we did sneak into the cellars once to break out some of the table wine after we’d gone through our Harrowing.” She tilted her head back, laughter bubbling from her lips. “The hangover was well worth the trouble we managed to get into.”

“I’d never take you for the get-into-trouble-type,” Varric chuckled along with her. Roz paused, sobering a moment, wondering just how far the trust her companions had ran, especially in the wake of everything she’d reported from the future. She’d been so close to reaching through the veil, thin as it was, and ripping herself apart to bring them home.

A sacrifice she would have willingly made had the time magic not brought them home once again. Roz didn’t know how to bring those words to life, though, uncertain if that line would forever remain in the sand.

Varric leaned in, nudging her gently. “It’s alright, Rosalind,” he intoned in a low voice. “I recognize them, you know?” He gestured to his forearms and Roz instinctually pulled at her sleeves to keep them down. “I’m not here to judge you.”

“I know,” Roz murmured, her entire face heating, flushed from the neck up from more than just her drink. “I haven’t, you know, not in a long while.”

“Your secret’s safe with me.” Despite the history she knew surrounding Varric’s arrival to the Inquisition, Roz nodded her head in quiet agreement. Friends, she thought, kept their word. Whatever Varric had hidden or had failed to disclose, was (so she hoped) done out of loyalty to those he cared about.

“Thank you, Varric,” Roz clicked her glass against his lightly, “you’re a good friend.”

“Now, now,” Varric snorted, raising his hands after he’d taken a drink, “I wouldn’t go too far to say good.” But he winked, jerking his chin slightly towards the fire and the dancers that continued to move and sway with the lyre. “Now, are you going to stand and talk me,  _or_ will you finally notice the looks a certain someone has been giving you since you came down here?”

“He’s not looking at me,” Roz argued lightly, turning her gaze only after she’d taken another sip. Part of her hoped she was wrong but another part, a far more insidious piece, reminded her that men like that didn’t stare at girls like her. Those looks were saved for prim and proper, for non-mages and girls who managed to somehow have a waist that didn’t need cinching or could hold off on a second helping of dinner.

Not her, she reminded herself, ready to let go of whatever hope flitted across her mind.

And yet…

“You so sure about that, Rosebud?” 

It was the ale, she thought, that made the realization so startling. Because, despite that little voice, Roz caught Vincent’s gaze settled on her.

There was no looking away, no pretending that she had simply glanced up and simply spotted him. Her stomach knotted, nervous butterflies making a home within her chest. The look he was giving her, watching her with a steadiness and what she could only describe as wonder that scorched her with its sincerity.

Maker, she was in trouble.

“Hold my drink, will you?” Roz murmured, swallowing one last sip before handing it off to Varric. She was certain he said something in response,  _knew_ there was laughter in his voice as she stepped away, but in that moment she simply didn’t care.

If she was returning to the Circle once this was done, if she didn’t have much freedom left, Roz wanted to do whatever she pleased before it was all gone. Starting with meeting him at the center of the square, all but breathless with a strange mixture of anticipation and anxiety.

“Hello,” Roz gave a little laugh, realizing how silly it sounded to say aloud. “I mean, no, that’s exactly what I meant.”

“You’ve been at the ale,” Vincent’s laugh rumbled deep in his chest, amused as she gave a giggle in response.

“Perhaps.” Blowing a strand of red from her face, she tilted her chin slightly, raising her eyebrows with another little laugh. “Enough to see if you’ll dance with me, that is.”

Vincent looked surprised, lips curving into a grin that all but overtook his face. For someone so defined and tall, there was a soft, boyishness to him that Roz couldn’t deny was incredibly endearing. It had to be a family thing, considering Rolfe had some of the same traits.

“You want to dance?” He asked, holding a hand out to her to take. Roz didn’t hesitate, her fingers fitting gently with his.

“If you don’t mind. I mean,” and Roz briefly lowered her voice, leaning in closer, “I haven’t ever truly learned to dance. I don’t know the steps and I might step on your toes.”

“I think I can manage,” Vincent’s confidence made some of the worry go away, following his lead as his brother struck up another song.

The melody was sweet and light; Roz clung to Vincent with a laugh as he swept her into the rhythm. Just fast enough to keep them moving as Roz twirled and spun, but in the moments in-between, she was so close to him. He smelled like the ground after a much-needed rain, as though he were storm made flesh in her arms. And warm,  _oh_ , he was so warm despite the winds that rushed around the mountains.

“Are you alright, Lass?” His gentle burr pulled her back as she let loose a shuddering breath.

“I think I need a breather.” She paused, adding, “Walk with me?” She was aware of the eyes upon them as the music kept playing, dancers still spinning and laughing around them. But she held tight to his arms, the world softening until it was just him.

“I can do that.”

Hand-in-hand, Roz took the lead, winding them through the elated crowd gathering for another song. The sounds of laughter dulled only slightly with some distance as she paused, ducking into a small space between cabins to simply have a moment where all eyes weren’t upon her. It was a tight fit, though she didn’t mind it. There was something familiar in being close, a magnetic pull that kept her closer to him when he was near.

Back against the wall, Roz let out a small laugh, her breath puffing visibly in front of her. “There,” she murmured, grinning, “a little quiet.” Above her, the stars shone, glimmering against the backdrop of navy. It was beautiful to see them like this, out in the world and not from within the walls she’d lived behind for so many years.

“You’re a bit flushed.” Vincent’s hand shifted, lightly skimming her cheek. Roz couldn’t help the little shudder that ran through her body the moment his skin touched hers, her eyes shooting directly to his in the darkness.

“It’s the ale,” Roz murmured, leaning into his palm very gently. “And the fire and the dancing.”  _And you_. But those words remained lodged in her throat. “I think I’m happy.”

“You only think?” Vincent’s head tilted slightly to the side, a small furrow appearing at his brow.

“I mean,” Roz waved a hand to the side, “this is all unbelievable, you know? I keep thinking it’s all going to be one, long dream. I’ll wake up and realize my life hasn’t changed one bit.” It felt like a grand story, the kind she used to read at the dead of night, not something she could possibly be living.

“I can assure you, it’s no dream.”

“Dream you  _would_ say that.” Roz laughed softly, dropping her gaze. “I don’t know what tomorrow will bring, now that the breach is closed, but I hope…” The words felt jumbled on her tongue, her world still warm and spinning ever so slightly.

“Stay.” A command, a quiet plea that she didn’t know how to explain. “I don’t know what comes next, but stay.” There was a long pause as she hastily added, tripping over her word, “The Inquisition could use you in the field. I just…” She met his gaze as his thumb brushed against her cheek, sighing so softly. “Don’t go.”

Maybe tomorrow they’d leash her, keep her close by and contained now that they’d taken on the breach. She’d never know what the future might hold, but this moment, she thought, she could keep this for herself.

It was a fragile hope, glowing and alight with a warmth that went deeper than the drink and the dancing. Roz tried (and failed) to remember a time when she felt like this before in her life. Alderis had been a steady, stable love, but nothing quite like the heat that flared to life the moment Vincent had come into her world.

A fire, Roz thought, she was willing to let devour her alive.

“Rosalind,” He uttered her full name with a softness that made her shudder. He’d dropped her hand, both palms cupping her cheeks as he tilted her face towards his again. “I will continue to serve the Inquisition, here or abroad, but know that I’m here for  _you_. Where you will it, I will go.”

“I never expected you,” Roz murmured, one hand anchored at his chest, another covering one hand holding her face. “I don’t think I ever could expect someone like you in my life.” It was the ale and her tongue felt looser than ever. Rather than feeling the anxiety rise or fear drown it, she felt  _free_.

The thought that there was something more between them didn’t feel like such a dream right then, here in the evening light, the promise of a winter storm on the horizon and celebrations all around them.

_He’s coming for you._

All the breath left her lungs as a voice - a strange, new voice - cut through her clear as day. Despite the warmth she felt down to the very tips of her toes, all of it vanished as the wind cut her to the bone, stiffening suddenly.

“Roz?”

“Did you hear that?” There was a strange weight to the air as Roz glanced to either side, seeking the voice that caught her by surprise.

“Hear what?” But Vincent’s own words were swallowed by the clanging of bells in the air, voices shouting in confusion above the wind. From her vantage point, Roz turned to see lights flickering to life along the distant mountains. They burst forth, one by one, like pin pricks of orange against the snow.

“That looks like-” Roz began, with Vincent quietly finishing for her.

“-an army.”

The pair exchanged a look before breaking apart, Roz hurrying to take the lead as she tried to reason what was happening. Who would come for them all the way out here? And why?

Her advisors had already gathered by the gate, locked tight. No banners flew, no reason seemed to ring for any of them. But that voice, Roz realized, was calling from the other side. And this time, she wasn’t the only one hearing it.

“He’s come for you.” A pale hand pointed above the valley, a figure silhouetted along the ridge. “The Elder One has come for you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come hang out with me on tumblr (where this is cross-posted, along with other pieces in this and other series) - [alittlestarling](http://alittlestarling.tumblr.com/)


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